An Awfully big Adventure
by AlessNox
Summary: John finds Sherlock too late. WARNING - DEATH


The door burst open and John stepped out onto the roof of the tower.

"Sherlock!" he yelled rushing forward to find him, shirtless and barefoot, chained like Prometheus to the tower wall.

He touched his dry cracked skin and wrapped his fingers around Sherlock's red wrists feeling the carpel bones, thin underneath the metal chains.

Unable to find a key, he used the metal poker that he had removed from the huge kitchen fireplace to break the shackle. He tossed it aside. Then he rubbed Sherlock's wrist in his hands, and when Sherlock fell in exhaustion, he cradled his head on his chest.

"Sherlock, are you alright? I came as soon as I could."

"John," Sherlock whispered in a weak voice that made John purse his lips in concern.

He turned his head and John returned his gaze forcing a grin on his face as he said, "Next time that you go on vacation, please leave me a forwarding address, okay?"

Sherlock made a hollow laugh followed by a dry cough that made John frown. "We need to get some water in you. How long have you been exposed to the elements like this?"

"Days, weeks, I lost count," Sherlock said sitting up, his long hair falling over his face as he leaned forward. He seemed unable to keep himself upright, so John cradled him under his arm as his other arm held up his phone.

"We're on a bloody tower. You'd think we'd be able to get reception. What kind of country is this?"

Sherlock raised his head and turned to face the door. "John, careful. The Baron..."

"He's dead," John said. "I chased him across the roof tops, and he slipped and fell, smashing to the ground like the Disney villain that he was, although I would have preferred to shoot him. Unfortunately, airport officials generally disapprove of carrying a gun on flights. otherwise, I might have got here a bit sooner. Let's get you off this roof. Your skin is so sunburnt and dry, I'd expect the wind could blow you away."

Sherlock tried to stand, but his knees gave out and he fell. John caught him with a hand around his waist. "I don't think that I can walk, John."

"Don't worry," John said. "I'll carry you." and after some adjusting and shifting of arms and legs, he raised Sherlock in a fireman's lift. His long legs held against his chest, his head dangling behind. "You're so light, Sherlock. I've carried skeletons that weighted more than you."

John walked through the door and down the dark steps. Sherlock sighed as he left the bright sunlight. His head rolling with the motion of John's walk, his hair caressing his back.

It was a long way down from the tower. Through the hallway, down the narrow staircase to the ground floor. and across the abandoned grounds, to the white moving van that he had arrived in. He lay Sherlock down on a quilted furniture pad before rushing to talk to the driver he had paid to take him there. "Have you heard from anyone? The police?"

"Poliza no come here. I tell you."

"I can't reach anyone on my phone."

"They block them. There may be a phone inside."

"No, we need to get to the hospital right away. Just drive. I'll be in the back. Drive fast."

John crawled into the back of the van and closed the door. A moment later, the vehicle roared down the gravel lane kicking up a cloud of white dust behind it. John knelt down beside Sherlock and held his hand tightly as the van shuddered and shook, only sitting up after they reached the paved roadway. He brushed the hair from Sherlock's forehead.

"You're not sweating. You might be suffering from heat stroke," John said. Sherlock's eyes fluttered. John crawled forward toward the cab and asked, "Do we have any water?"

The man passed him a half empty water bottle, and John lifted Sherlock's head and helped him to drink. Sherlock swallowed weakly and the crease in John's forehead deepened.

"Sherlock, I need you to talk to me. I need you to stay conscious."

"What?"

"You're dehydrated and suffering from exposure and perhaps blood loss. God knows what he did to you. The scars... are you in pain?"

"Pain? No John. I've felt no pain. Not since I began flying."

John looked worriedly toward the road. They were still half an hour outside of town, and he hadn't been able to get a message through, not even to Mycroft's people. He calculated in his head, thrusting the water bottle against Sherlock's lips again. Another shallow sip, and then he turned his face away.

"I need to get some fluids in you. You're dangerously dehydrated, and I don't have an IV."

"Don't worry, John. Everything is fine. Be brave, like Tigerlily."

"Tigerlily? Is that a codeword?"

"No." Sherlock smiled. The skin around his mouth cracked with the effort. John ran his fingers across Sherlock's forehead. Then he removed his coat and covered Sherlock's bare chest.

"What is it then, this tiger lily?"

"They talked to me, when I had to go away," Sherlock said. "He had a way to get me, even in my mind palace. The pain. But then, I found a way outside of my self. I would imagine my mind flying above my body. It was easy on the tower. The wide sky in the daytime, the stars at night. It was simple. Just a little fairy dust. I never wanted to grow up, you know."

"Fairy dust? Sherlock, did he drug you?"

"No, John. You don't understand. When the pain was too great, I imagined that I was Peter Pan. No one could catch Peter Pan you know, not the crocodile, not Captain Hook, no one. I became Peter Pan and flew away to Never never land, and there was no more pain."

"Oh Sherlock, I'm so sorry," John said bending over and stroking the side of Sherlock's cheek. He rubbed his hand across his hair to find that it was dry and brittle, like straw. "But, you're safe now. We'll get you to a hospital and everything will be fine. You can tell me all about it in front of the fireplace when we get home."

"You never were a good liar, John. You know that I'm not going to make it back home."

"Don't say that. Of course you'll make it home. You have to make it home."

"It's not bad, John...living in Never, never land. It's always full of adventures, and I wasn't lonely. You were there with me."

"I was there ...in your dream?"

"Yes, John. We built a fort and raided a pirate ship. We made them walk the plank and then became pirates ourselves. It was great fun."

"And we'll have more fun again when you get better. Hang on, Sherlock. It will only be a few more minutes till we reach the hospital. Can't you do that for me? Hang on? Just for a little while longer?"

"The evening star is rising and they're calling me, John. It's so easy to just fly away."

"Don't. Sherlock. Don't. You've got to stay here. I need you here."

"I almost broke, John. Do you know what kept me right? It was you, always you."

"Then stay with me, Sherlock. Don't sleep. I'm afraid."

"Afraid? Pirates like us must never be afraid. You told me that in Neverland."

"I wasn't there, Sherlock. I'm here. Stay with me here."

"To die will be an awfully big adventure."

"Stop it! Stop it! You aren't going to die. I won't let you."

"You are strong, John, and the best doctor that I know, but that's one power that you don't have."

John called to the driver, "Faster man, we're losing him!"

The car sped up, but a glance through the window told John that they were still far from the city. He pulled out his phone, and seeing that there was no signal, he threw it angrily across the cab so that it bounced against the back door. the battery falling free. He put his face in his hands for a moment before crawling over to Sherlock's side and taking his hand again.

"John."

"I'm here."

"If I were to stay for anyone, it would have been for you. You were my Wendy."

"What are you saying, Sherlock?"

"I was a 'lost boy' before I met you, John. You made our flat a home. You gave me somewhere, someone to come back to. You were my Wendy." He smiled up at John and then he closed his eyes.

John put two fingers against his neck to feel for the carotid pulse. It weakened and then stopped altogether. "Please, hurry! His heart has stopped!" John called out while placing his hand on Sherlock's chest. He pushed down firmly, once and twice, counting through the tears. He pumped over and over, only stopping when the doors were thrown open.

A man dressed in blue jumped into the van and touched the body. John fought when they tried to take him away. "Not this time," John said. "He's died before. It's not over yet." He reached out and grabbed Sherlock's wrist, but unlike the time on the pavement, this time his hand was cold. He dropped it, as if it burned.

The light streamed in harsh and bright as they took his body out of the van and placed it onto a stretcher. John sat down hard watching as they rolled it away. Then he stared up into the pale blue sky searching for the evening star, but he couldn't find it.


End file.
